Chapter 1 - Ilana
The first sound I heard was the crack of glass.
It was sudden when a hand clamped over my mouth, forcing all sound to die in my throat.
My sketchbook hit the marble floor, pages fluttering open like startled birds as the world around me blurred into a flurry of chaos. One moment I was staring at a painting, leisurely examining the soft brush strokes trailing across the face of the woman in the portrait, and the very next moment I was staring at my own reflection in a man’s black visor.
“Don’t scream.” The voice was low, accented, and sharp enough to slice air.
I screamed anyway, but the sound never made it past his gloved hand. I tried to wriggle away, push him, and bite his hand, but the man was much taller and built like a wall. All effort was useless.
Pain bit into my wrists as zip ties locked around them while I continued to kick, catching someone’s shin. That earned a muttered curse in Russian, which twisted something in my stomach. They were Russian. My own people. Which only meant that they weren’t some random thugs, apparently common in the United States, but men who knew what they were doing. Only someone with connections could get inside the closed gallery past visiting hours anyway.
They hadn’t broken in. They had simply walked inside.
A black van waited just outside the gallery doors, engine still humming. The street was empty, indicating that the security guard was gone, the bright lights of the exhibit flickering out behind me as they dragged me across the polished floor. Animage of my brothers suddenly came to my head. All four of them.
Kliment. Nico. Jarek. Fyodor.
Their faces used to mean safety, at least until we were back in Moscow. They had insisted Miami was an opportunity. A fresh start. A chance to expand. And I had believed them. I had believed everything they said until this moment.
The van door slammed, shutting out the world around me.
The windows were all tinted black, making it impossible for me to see outside. But even if I could see, I would never be able to remember the route. I had only arrived in Miami two weeks ago, and those two weeks were spent driving around to art galleries with my chauffeur and bodyguards, completely sheltered from the city. I had wanted to go out. Explore. Breathe the sea air. But my brothers had said no. They had talked about my safety being of utmost priority in a new city.
To hell with their safety precautions.
Where are they now?
The air inside smelled of metal and gasoline, but before I could try to discern anything else, a hood dropped over my head. Rough hands shoved me down on a leather seat unceremoniously, and I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from crying out in frustration. The seat vibrated as we sped away, tires screaming against the asphalt. I had never felt so helpless in my entire life. Everything seemed wrong. As if my world was breaking apart before my eyes, and I was being forced to watch.
My voice came out hoarse. “You’ve made a big mistake.”
“Shut it,” someone in the darkness said.
“I have money—”
A laugh, soft and amused, cut through the humming of the engine. “We don’t need your money, sweetheart. We already know your family has plenty.”
Cold spread through my chest. “You know my brothers?”
“Know them?” Another voice replied, this time from the front seat. “We know what they’re trying to do.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Orders,” the first one said. “No one has allowed you to ask questions, so zip your mouth and save your energy.”
“When they find out that you have kidnapped me, you will have a lot to pay for.”
The man in the front seat laughed.
“Right now, it is your brothers who have a lot to pay for, and you will become the form of payment.”
What does that even mean?I wondered, my mind racing.
The van hit a turn, throwing me sideways. My shoulder slammed against the metal, but the pain helped me focus again. I already knew panic was useless. I’d learned that much from living around the Romanov men. They had taught me early how panic only made you weak, and weakness was something no one respected.
I forced myself to breathe instead. In. Out. In. Out.
